


What He's Worth

by strawberry_bee



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberry_bee/pseuds/strawberry_bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graffiti artist R has little to live for, little to keep himself from turning to drink forever, until high-bred Enjolras leaves his roots and follows him around Orange County, California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Party

R was a notorious graffiti artist. At least, that’s what his mother always told his family members, after they had to get the paint redone on the living room wall. It had been several years since he had seen those stubbornly white walls, and that archaic woman that disliked anything that wasn’t eggshell white.

But there was something about going out and about in the dead of night, or in broad daylight, a broken down cardboard box tucked on the inside of his arm, while he carried a full can of spraypaint shoved up a ratty, faded old hoodie. It didn’t matter what wall it was; he didnt scope them out, not really. Sometimes it would be crumbling brick, other times it would have the sagging material of an older building that had seen one too many graffiti clean-ups. The city of Los Angeles had a problem with people like him.

And didn’t he enjoy throwing a wrench into the system.

Tonight was the general Orange County expectation of weather; cloudy, but no rain. R made his way down cracked sidewalks alongside buildings that were falling apart. There were people laughing, and screaming, and fighting. Noises that he grew up without, noises that defined him now.

As he headed for Huntington Beach, the disrepair of public services began to disappear, giving way to boutiques and new age restaurants that he couldn't afford to go to, even if he worked three jobs. As it was, R was barely able to keep the apartment he had. Making political statements costed money. His target was a hotel on the beach front. The security wasn't bad, and he’d be able to get in and out before they spotted him.

The Hyatt Regency Huntington Beach Resort and Spa had a fault, and that was lulling its guests into a sense of relaxation. With such large grounds, it was easy for someone with half a brain and a can of spray paint to get close to the infrastructure, and as a result create art that caused their poor privileged minds to think critically. As it was, R kept to the shadows. He certainly couldn’t afford the cost of being caught, and he wasn't one for stupid, dangerous stunts. Unless it was on a dare. But he wasn't exactly being egged on by his drunk buddies.

The white stucco of the building was just begging to be painted, and R took a moment to marvel at the beauty of his personal canvas. But it didn’t last long, because there were still guards, and probably guard dogs. Besides, there were tourists still out and about, probably drunk off of their asses, and who would not hesitate to start talking loudly in his direction.

He took the cardboard out from under his arm and unfolded it, taking care with the silhouettes he had cut out of the cardboard with an x-acto knife. He rolled up his sleeves as he pulled the can from his hoodie pocket. He shook the can and popped off the lid before pressing the cardboard against the wall. Duct-taped together, the stencil spanned eight feet in width by six feet in height.

He pressed his arm against it as he sprayed over the cardboard, turning the entire thing, and his skin, black as he coated the stencil in spray paint. In under five minutes, he had finished. He quickly folded the now damp cardboard back up, and put the lid back on the almost empty spray paint can. He took a step back to admire his work.

It was a mural of two paparazzi, backs turned to two boys, one Filipino, the other Hispanic. Both were sitting on a curb while a woman in flashy clothes caught the attention of the paparazzi. Above the painting was the title 'Life in OC'. R smiled slightly, pleased with himself as he signed the art with a jagged R.

"What are you doing?" A voice called, and R froze in fear. He had lingered too long, admiring something that would be on the news sites tomorrow. He turned to the voice, ready to shout back a similar question.

“What are you still doing up, sweetheart?" He asked, taking in the form of an obviously trashed group of young men. But the one who caught his attention was wearing skinny jeans and a red blazer over a blue and white shirt. He didn't look drunk, but his friends looked ready to keel over.

It was funny, how the light framed the man's curly blonde hair, and highlighted the stubble on his face perfectly. It reminded him of his rougher features, and that it was definitely not a fashion choice that stubble covered his own jawline.

"Enjolras, lets go back." A man to the left of the Apollonian god said, tugging on his friend’s sleeve. R backed up a little, ready to run once 'Enjolras' got sufficiently distracted.

"Hang on, Courf." The man shrugged his arm free of the other man, who only gave him a wounded look.

Enjolras took a step towards R, and he turned, sprinting for the gate. He didn’t like this man who made his gut twist and his heart beat hard in his chest. He didn’t like feelings that couldn’t be drowned out with a bottle of wine.

R scaled the gate, throwing the cardboard stencil over along with the spray paint. He fell halfway down the other side, but got up once again when he heard Enjolras' shout.

R stumbled to his feet, snatching up the cardboard and the can as he ran. He made his way past the parking lot, ignoring shouts as he went until finally, he rounded a corner and was confronted with the familiarity of his home turf.

He slowed to a walk, and took care to take slow, deep breaths. There was nothing more suspicious than a heavily breathing man with a haunted look in his eyes, and he knew it. He disposed of the stencil in a nearby dumpster, along with the can.

He pulled out his cigarettes as he walked; anything to steady the tremor in his hands. He lit a cigarette and shoved the pack back into his jeans, taking a long pull. The long forced habit of relaxation tied to smoking helped him now. His heart rate slowed, and he was able to slow down to a more leisurely walk.

"Fuck." He mumbled, as he dropped the butt, stepping on it as he walked. R never spooked, and never that easily. The kid was just a spoiled brat, probably went to the USC as well. But as he found excuses for Enjolras, the more he thought of the light playing on the man's face, throwing his face into sharp contours of light and dark.

His apartment was on the third floor of a tenement that had never seen better days. R made his way up exposed concrete stairs, hand brushing the wall in a subconscious gesture. Now he payed no attention to the initials, or the drawings of little children long gone. He had no eyes for the beauty of the ghosts in the old building that night.

He came to the landing, and shuffled to his door, in which he opened before stepping inside. There was a painting easel shoved in a corner, a canvas half-done with cheap paint still drying on it. He skirted around the piles of books, the coffee cups full of water for his paintbrushes. He threw his hoodie off, tossing it onto the only sofa in the designated living room.

He made his way through the kitchen, and into his bedroom, where he found another hoodie and some pajama pants that were his last present from his family before he left.

It was good to keep ghosts, and even better to see them turn threadbare through the months. He shuffled into the bathroom to shower. Black ran from his skin, and stained the floor, adding on to the greens and blues and the faintest trace of red. He got dressed in the shortest amount of time possible, ignoring the cracked mirror, as it was just a reminder of a moment of drunk rage better not thought of.

He stepped out of the bathroom, and past the bed. He went to the couch, and put the old hoodie on again, hiding countless tattoos once again as he collapsed unceremoniously on the patched up sof.  

**For once in his life, R didn’t have to drink himself to sleep.**


	2. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Eponine's insistence, R decides to go out to dinner with Enjolras and his friends, Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

R woke to late afternoon light that had managed to find the cracks between the blinds covering his windows. He rolled over, burying his face into the faded old couch that smelled of weed and spilled wine. He heaved a half-hearted groan before the source of his rude awakening buzzed again in his pants pocket.

R pulled out his phone, squinting at the harshness of the lighting as he fought to comprehend the amount of texts that were coming from his two best friends friends, Eponine.

Giving up all pretense of being able to understand English for the moment, he sat up, rubbing his temples as a gesture of habit, although he didn’t need to. It was strange for him to wake up without a hangover. He stood, shuffling to the kitchen. The phone buzzed insistently on the couch again, and R cursed quietly under his breath.

"No one is even up before three in the afternoon." He grouched, pulling a carton of eggs and a bottle of wine from his fridge. He uncorked the unopened bottle and set the carton down. He took a swig as he took a pan out of a nearby cabinet. He set it on the stove and went back to his phone.

Bottle firmly in his hand, and therefore fulfilling the wishes of the tattoo that he had spread between index and thumb--place wine bottle here--he felt ready to face the questioning sure to come from Eponine.

Just as he was about to unlock his phone, he got a call from Eponine. R sighed heavily, looking back regretfully at the carton of eggs on the counter as he answered.

"R, there's some rich kid in a Prius asking about you, and your art hit national television." Eponine said bluntly, not even pausing for a simple good afternoon. Which was rude, to be honest. This was one of his few good afternoons, and she ought to have respected it. But still...she did have her priorities straight.

"Does he look like a god walking amongst neanderthals?" R asked, going back to the stove.

"Yeah, says his name is Enjolras-his friend, Courfeyrac, was it? Knows Gavroche, so I think they're okay." She said.

"When are we going to stop trusting a twelve year old kid’s judgement of people?" R asked, smiling faintly.

"He's ten, and did you hear me? Your stunt last night pulled some serious coverage." Eponine continued.

"Mmm, right. Any chance of them going away?" He asked, setting the bottle of wine down next to the carton of eggs.

"I dont think so, 'taire." Eponine sighed. R cursed quietly.

"Any chance I can finish my eggs first?" He asked hopefully, having just finished cracking the eggs into the pan, and he really did not want to clean up half-cooked egg later.

"Unless you want uninvited guests at your apartment, no." Eponine replied. R looked around at his shabby apartment, and knew that that was definitely not a possibility.

"Okay, I'll be down in five. Do you think you can handle being in a Prius?" R asked. He heard her laugh, and the phone cut out.

That was definitely not good news, he decided.

Still, he finished what he could of the eggs, and shoveled a few mouthfuls in before abandoning it in the sink. R hurried out the door, knowing that it was no joke to keep Eponine waiting. Especially with unannounced guests that neither of them wanted. He paused long enough to lock the door before continuing on his way.

He took the stairs two at a time, pausing to touch two initials enclosed by a heart. Whoever M and J had been, he would try to remember them, even if it meant pausing for just a moment to brush a finger against the engraving.

He stepped outside, giving his eyes a moment to adjust.

"R! Over here!" Eponine shouted, who had stepped out of the decidedly out of place prius. He took a deep breath, and walked towards his friend. Eponine was his oldest friend, a street urchin that was capable of out-drinking him if she was dedicated enough, and if she didn't want to keep her liver intact. She opened her arms for a hug, and he picked her up, swinging her in a circle before setting her down again.

"So, how's the rich boy posse?" R asked quietly as she turned, plastering a smile on her face as she walked to the prius.

"They aren't that bad,” she said. That would have to be enough for him. Eponine generally had a good sense for people, and he would have to trust her judgement.

"Hello. Here to take me to prison for vandalism?" R asked amiably as he opened the car door. Eponine slid in before him so he wouldn’t have to sit next to Courfeyrac. He would have to thank her for that later.

"Not exactly." Enjolras said tersely, and R wondered just how uncomfortable he was in this neighborhood. Damn, he really needed another drink. He got in the car, and slammed the door shut.

"Are you here to offer me an interview?" R guessed as Enjolras turned the car out onto the street.

"No. I wanted to talk to you about what you meant by your art." Enjolras admitted.

R blinked, surprised. A moment later, he was was chuckling quietly. No one ever cared about the symbolism behind graffiti. Still, the expected silence in the car was unnerving, and he was compelled to answer.

"I thought it was simple enough to understand, Apollo." He said, smoothly enough. "there are a lot more things to our city than cocktail parties and meeting social expectations."

"No one I've met cared about those things until now." Enjolras said quietly, and R swallowed hard.

"Yeah, well, that's just how things are." He said bluntly, turning his head to look out the window.

"They removed your art piece, but not before we were able to snap a few photos and get them uploaded to a few news sites." The man in the passenger seat spoke up.

"And who're you?" R interrupted.

"Combeferre. You're attracting a lot of attention, R." He continued, glancing back.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I want, attention." R responded, exasperated.

"Too late now." Eponine said. "Your latest party trick hit it big, and there are people who want to see what you’ll do next."  

"Yeah, well, they're in for a bit of a shock." R slid down a little in his seat, watching as the scenery turned from the slums to the nicer side of town.

"What do you prefer to eat?" Enjolras asked from the front.

"Aw, taking me on a date, Apollo? I’m flattered," R said. "Somewhere with wine, preferably." He finished when there was no reply.

"The Buon Gusto should work." Courfeyrac spoke up.

"I'll pay for the food." Enjolras finished, not missing the worried look that passed over Eponine and R's faces.

"Treated like three star guests, Ep. We're really moving up in the world." R said, earning a jab in the ribs from his friend.

Enjolras found parking easily enough, and the group piled out of the car. R was able to get a better look at Courfeyrac, who wore a beanie that went well with an overall beach bum attire. Combeferre, on the other hand, claimed the look of a hipster-scholar, and Enjolras still wore loose fitting clothes that were similar to the other night. Consistency was good, he decided. Change would be harder to handle with someone like Enjolras.

Enjolras led the way to the Italian eatery, where they were led to a conveniently open table in the crowded restaurant. While R couldn’t get away with sitting next to just Eponine, he found that Combeferre knew about personal space. Which was a comfort, as Courfeyrac was leaning heavily against Enjolras as he talked excitedly to Combeferre.

Enjolras sat in front of R and studied his menu attentively, barely raising his eyes from it when he was pulled into conversation by Courfeyrac. When the waiter came again, R found himself at a loss for what to order.

"What's good here?" He asked Enjolras quietly, while Courfeyrac entered an extravagant order, only to be slightly insulted when the waiter admitted that they did not, in fact, make appletinis there.

"Get the alla boscaiola, with the rosemount shariz." Enjolras answered calmly. R filled his order, wondering if Enjolras was trying to poison him or something.

"Thank you." He finally mumbled when Eponine was sufficiently distracted.

"It's no problem." Enjolras answered, managing a small smile. R's breath shortened, and he coughed into his fist, trying to cover the blush on his cheeks.

"Hey, hey, Enjolras, can we entreat them to join Les Amis?" Courfeyrac said loudly. Enjolras looked to him with fond eyes, but nodded, giving his consent.

"Okay, so like, Les Amis de l’ABC is this group of people who get together and hold meetings to discuss the social issues of the world, and what we can do to fix them." Courfeyrac explained. "The people are great, and it's like a second family."

"Sounds...interesting." Eponine said flatly, and R shared her sentiments.

"Give it a shot, okay?" Courfeyrac asked hopefully.

"I don’t think that's my sort of thing." R told him bluntly.

"I'll think about it." Eponine responded, having the tact not to turn down their offer right away. Tact was not something R was very well acquainted with.

The rest of the dinner went as well as things could, given the circumstances. R found that Enjolras had excellent taste in wine, as well as a laugh that made him smile without shame whenever he heard it.

When the group stepped out into the warm night air, they were all more comfortable with each other. Eponine kept up a steady stream of conversation with Combeferre the entire time, while Courfeyrac rolled his eyes in fond exasperation at his boyfriend. R fell back, watching the group of three make their way back to the Prius. It seemed that Eponine almost belonged there, and he was happy to see his friend smiling.

"When is your next graffiti?" Enjolras asked from beside him, and R jumped.

"Uh, I don't really have a schedule." R responded, glancing at him.

"When you do, will you tell me?" He continued, and R noticed the stubborn set to his jaw.

"Yeah, sure, Apollo. If you're still around then,” he replied. During the dinner, R had learned that all three were on spring break from the University of South California.

R had thought about college, when he was a kid. But that was a dream that he had watched die long ago.

"We'll see,” Enjolras answered, and pulled ahead, unlocking the car. R followed after him, wondering what he was thinking.

The drive back was easier for R. Courfeyrac talked enough for half the group, and Combeferre was willing enough to keep the discussion running with his boyfriend. Eponine was right. They were good people.

The Prius slowed to a stop in front of Eponine's apartment, and R stepped out with her.

"I can make my way back on my own,” he told the group, and shut the door on Courfeyrac's protests. He had spent long enough in an enclosed space with too many people, and he needed to clear his head.

R waved goodbye to Eponine as he walked on the sidewalk, not aiming for his apartment, but instead for the liquor store downtown. A familiar haunt of his, it was easy for him to find his regular drinks, and to get through the checkout with minimal flirting with the cashier.

R opened one bottle on his journey home, and finished it once he got in the door to his apartment. He managed to slam the door shut before opening yet another.

After downing half of the second, R stumbled through the apartment. He found his paints and brushes before he got rid of the old canvas painted with something unfinished he didn't even remember starting anymore.

After propping up a new canvas, he began to paint, a process that took until just after midnight, right when the buzz of his rapid intake faded and a dull ache pounded at the back of his head. After taking the time to clean the brushes and put away the carton of eggs from that afternoon, he crashed on the couch. He fell asleep splattered in reds and blacks, escaping a terrible headache that would only chase him into the morning.


	3. Graffiti Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R decides to take Enjolras on one of his graffiti sprees, which turns into a problem all on its own.

Over the course of the next week, R successfully avoided the Prius. It wasn't that any of them had done anything wrong, it was just that he didn't want to see Enjolras. He felt safe in the fact that he wouldn't venture out of the Prius in this neighborhood, and it was easy enough to block Eponine's calls. He knew she was probably pissed at him, and that gave him all the more reason to go into hiding. A pissed Eponine was not to be trifled with.

It was a rude awakening when he heard the increasingly frantic knocking on his door. R hated visitors. That's why he generally made sure to inform Eponine that if she tipped anyone off about his whereabouts, he'd personally make her life hell.

Or maybe it was Bossuet. Bossuet was a good guy, and probably wouldn't guilt him about not wanting to go to a stupid meeting for social activists.

R made his way up from the couch, stumbling over the haphazard piles of sketchbooks he had laying about the place. Eventually, he was able to yank the door open.

"What d'you want?" He mumbled, running his fingers through his hair.

"You look rough, mate." Bossuet said cheerfully, Australian accent heavily coating his words as he shoved past R and into the apartment.

"It's my natural look." R answered, relieved. He didn't know what he'd do, if it was Enjolras at the door. Maybe punch him. Maybe kiss him and get punched. He shut the door, and followed his long-term friend to crash on the couch.

"This Enjolras guy started blogging about you." Bossuet continued, opening his laptop that was coated in anti-Tony Abbott stickers.

R groaned loudly in response, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes as he tried to wake up.

"Here, you read these wonderful, if not slightly romantic posts, while I make you something to eat." Bossuet dumped the laptop into his lap before getting back up off the couch.

"Dont you dare burn down my apartment," R mumbled, pulling the laptop closer. Bossuet’s answering laugh was followed by a loud crash somewhere behind R’s head.  Deciding to ignore the obvious signs that his life was in mortal peril, he decided to read what Apollo had to say about him.

'R is an extraordinary man. Yes, he is all hard edges, and has a tendency for drink, and he defecates public property. But he is the only person I've found who has felt the same way I do about these causes, and I am honored to have made his acquaintance. If anything, he is the kind of person we need for change. For the good of this country.'

R snorted, slamming the laptop shut. There was no point in finishing. It was clear that Enjolras' skewed perception of him was beyond repair, and it was high time he fixed that.

"What're you gonna do about your stalker?" Bossuet called.

"Stalker?" R mumbled, but it made sense. No one could miss the Prius, because it was just as out of place here as its driver was.

"Yeah, I'm gonna take him out on a graffiti run," R continued, getting up off his couch after a moment of hesitation. He had a moment of doubt, as he really did not want to see what Bossuet had done to his kitchen.

"Be gentle with him, it's his first time." Bossuet replied, completely oblivious to the fact that the sauce he was making had over-boiled, and was seeping onto the floor.

"Bossuet."

"R?"

"What did you do to my kitchen?" He asked calmly.

Bossuet turned to look at the sauce, and cursed loudly, grabbing a fistful of paper towels as he rushed to clean up the mess he had made.

R shook his head in wonder at him, and went to his bedroom, where he called Eponine for the first time that week.

"Ep?" He asked carefully, when she finally picked up.

"Hey asshole, finally decide to answer your goddamn phone?" Eponine said, venom in her voice.

"Yeah, sorry, all dickhead awards can go to me," He said, pacing around his room as he talked.

"What do you want?" Eponine said, sighing. The great thing about her was that she didn't bitch at him. Something his mother had never figured out.

"I need Enjolras' number," he told her, barely managing to get the words out.

"What for?" She asked, but he heard the beeping through the connection, and he knew she was looking it up.

"I'm taking him on a graffiti run," R explained, finding a sharpie on his nightstand.

"Make it dangerous as all hell for me." Eponine said, before rattling off the number for him.

"Yeah, definitely," R hung up, before dialing the number she had given him.

"Courf, no--hello?" Enjolras answered, his tone obviously distressed.

"Is this a bad time?" R asked nervously.

"No, Courfeyrac is trying to do a handstand in the living room," Enjolras sighed. "Why'd you call?"

"I read your article on me," R said flatly, and to his gratification he heard Enjolras cough. Good, let him be embarrassed for lying about him.

"Oh. Did it meet your expectations?" Enjolras asked. There was a heavy crash in the background, followed by what R could only assume was Combeferre's laughter.

"Which part? The part where you made me up to be a revolutionary poster boy, or the part where you wrote about me without my permission?" R said, just realizing how bothered he was by it.

"I'm sorry. I can take the post down if it bothers you--” Enjolras began.

"No, shut up. You're going on an art spree with me." R said.

"Tonight?"

"Unless you moved back to your campus of rich kids, yes." R replied, absently drawing a design onto his jeans with the sharpie.

"Yeah, I'll be there soon. Anything I need to pick up?" Enjolras asked.

"No, we'll get the stuff on the way." R answered. It would be easier to have Enjolras pick everything up, since he looked like the poster boy for innocent rich kid, but if he wanted to understand what R did, there was no sense in censoring the amount of shit he had to go through just to put up something that would be taken down in a few days.

"Okay, see you at six," Enjolras answered, hanging up just as Combeferre was asking a question along the lines of 'was that-’

R shoved his phone back into his pocket and capped the sharpie before going back to the kitchen.

Bossuet had managed to save the sauce, and it looked like the spaghetti was at least half-edible.

"So, you going to go downtown with him, or closer to the beach front again?" Bossuet asked as he strained the pasta.

"I don’t know, depends on how much he pisses me off in the next few hours," R admitted, watching Bossuet bring the pot full of pasta back to the stove.

"If you get caught, his parent's could probably bail him out of jail, and by turn, you," Bossuet continued conversationally. The thing was, R never got caught. But it seemed that they both realized that carting a rich kid around would be more of a liability than anything else.

"Yeah, the infamous R gets caught because his friend couldn't run twenty yards," R smiled, uncorking a wine bottle and passing it to Bossuet to have a drink. The two had been arrested a few times after getting into bar fights, and it was mostly due to Bossuet's dedication to not running more than fifty feet at a time.

"Trying to say something, are ya?" Bossuet asked, cracking a smile as he took a drink and passed the bottle back to R.

"You know I am." R responded.

"Don't threaten the cook," Bossuet warned, handing him a plate in exchange for the bottle again.

"You could poison me without intending to, Boss," R replied, although the food did  taste great, and Bossuet knew his way around the kitchen well enough, even though he forgot things easily.

"I like to think I could do it intentionally," he mused, leaning against the sink as he ate his portion.

They ate in silence for several minutes, passing the bottle of wine back and forth between them. They relaxed more and more as the drink took effect, and they fell into easy conversation about old times together.

Eventually, they were interrupted by R's phone ringing.

"I'm here, do you want me to come up?" Enjolras asked without preamble, the distant strains of classical music playing in the background.

"Nah, I'll be down in a sec." R told him, and cut the call. "Sorry, Boss, but my carriage awaits." He bowed to his friend, who burst into laughter.

"Don't fuck the prince before midnight, R,” he called as R made his way to the door.

"You know me too well," R called back, grinning as he grabbed his x-acto knife and key. He went out the door, shutting it behind Bossuet's laughter.

He made his way down the stairwell, taking time to look at all the engravings as habit demanded of him. The usual brushing of fingers, the repetitiveness of his feet slamming down old stairs that had felt countless other feet.

It almost felt like R was ready to face Enjolras when he stepped out into the late evening light.

He made his way to the Prius, in which was parked against the curb in some impressive parallel parking.

"Nice parking," R told him, opening the passenger side door and sliding in.

"Thanks." Enjolras said curtly, already backing the car out of its spot as R put on his seatbelt.

"Eager, are we?" he grinned.

"Just have a lot to do, don't we?" Enjolras asked, glancing at him as he pulled out into the street.

"You looked up how to graffiti online didn't you," R accused.

"I did not." Enjolras answered, a blush rising to his cheeks.

"Busted." R sang cheerfully, settling into the leather seat of the car.

"Where are we going?" Enjolras asked grumpily, clearly upset that he had been found out.

"To the nearest dumpster for the highest quality cardboard this city has to offer," R answered.

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, R was left to blessed silence as Enjolras navigated the streets and towards one of his familiar haunts, the backlot of a Target

"Isn’t this illegal?" Enjolras asked cautiously when he pulled around to the back of the superstore.  

"Why, a little scared of getting caught?" R teased, opening the door slightly.

"No, just wondering if we should use these." Enjolras held up a ski mask, and R snorted with laughter.

"We aren't robbing a bank, Apollo," R told him, getting out and shutting the door on his confused look.

R made his way over to the nearest dumpster, where he leapt in with ease just as Enjolras got out of the car. R took a moment to control the brief moment of panic he always felt when he was in close spaces. He took a deep breath, and began pulling out half-crushed boxes not properly collapsed. He tossed them out to Enjolras, getting an assortment of fifteen of various sizes before leaping out after them.

Enjolras, to his credit, actually picked up the cardboard, and was waiting patiently for R.

"Okay, put those in the back, and we'll head out again." R instructed, sliding back into the passenger seat. Once Enjolras had gotten in the car, he directed him to the nearest Lowes.

"We only need three cans, and a x-acto knife for you." R explained as Enjolras drove.

"I'm not exactly artistically gifted." Enjolras explained, not even bothering to glance at R as he talked. Which was fine with him, the more he could look at Enjolras, the merrier he was.

"And here I thought you were perfect," R teased in a convincingly distraught voice. This time Enjolras looked at him, and R grinned. It was good to tease Enjolras, he decided.

"I'll pay for the spray paint." Enjolras told him as they pulled into the Lowes parking lot.

"What a gentleman," R said sarcastically, following him into the store. Enjolras gave him a harsh look, and R shrugged. If Enjolras wanted to believe he was this secretly optimistic person, he was in for a rude wake-up call.

They navigated the store quickly enough, with R leading the way to the aisle they needed. He grabbed several cans of black spray paint before following Enjolras back to the check out.

"Where will we be cutting out the stencils?" Enjolras asked conversationally, once they had stepped out of the store. R had to admit it, it was nice talking to someone who knew about the making of graffiti, even if it was from research on the internet.

"At my apartment," R said. He was hesitant to let Enjolras into his apartment, but there was nowhere else for them to go, and Bossuet would want to meet him anyways.

"Okay." Enjolras said, and R barely caught the sound of surprise in his tone. R wasn't a hermit, was he? Shaking the thought, R got back in the car.

They drove back in silence, while classical music played quietly from speakers in the back. R tapped his fingers along with the piano notes, but Enjolras did not comment, maybe because he didn't notice.

"Here we are, home sweet home,” R said, the short buzz from the wine beginning to fade with his even shorter cheerful mood.

Enjolras remained silent, going to grab the bag of cans while R grabbed the cardboard, lugging them to the door as Enjolras followed behind.

R juggled the cardboard while he wrangled to door open and led the way up the stairs. Enjolras kept quiet, until they reached his landing.

"This place looks like a fire hazard,” he said, looking around at the gouged walls and smoke-stained ceilings.

"You should see my apartment," R said dryly, opening the door and swinging it open.

To his eternal gratitude, Bossuet had cleaned up before clearing out. There were still sketchbooks all around, but there was a nice painting he had abandoned three months ago on the easel, and there was a minimal amount of coffee mugs surrounding the place. It felt like a strangers home to him.

It made it vastly easier to clear a space in the living room for the cardboard, and for Enjolras. He leaned the cardboard against the wall nearest to the door, and set to work.

To his benefit, Enjolras refrained from mentioning how much of  a health hazard his apartment probably was. He stood by the door while R kicked and tossed various items in a pile against the far wall with little regard for his artwork. Once he was finished, he grabbed the largest cardboard piece and dropped it on the floor. He scrounged around his apartment until he found the sharpie he left in his bedroom.

When he came back out again, Enjolras was sitting on the floor, calmly drawing a crude stick figure on a piece of cardboard he had torn from one of the other pieces. For some reason, it was absurdly endearing to R, and he moved around him silently, kneeling to set to work on his own cardboard piece.

"What have you been trying to tell the people?" R asked curiously, pausing before he set the sharpie down.

"How the liberty of the people is being compromised," Enjolras said with conviction, meeting R's gaze with no hesitation.

"I think I got something." R nodded to himself, before setting to work. The outline only took twenty minutes, and when he was done, Enjolras made a choking noise.

"Never seen a stripper, Apollo?" R asked, glancing up at him.

"No...it's fine." Enjolras cleared his throat, going back to his cardboard. R grinned, getting his x-acto knife out of his pocket and set to work cutting out the outline to one of his greater works.

"Where are you going to hang that?" Enjolras asked, as R worked on carving out the woman's face with a delicate hand.

"I dont know. Whatever strikes my fancy. We aren't taking the Prius by the way--they'll just track you by your license plate." R explained.

"Of course," Enjolras nodded, probably having learned that from somewhere else on the internet too.

"You can wear one of my hoodies, but I wouldn't recommend the ski masks--too suspicious. My hoodies have a deeper hood, so your face won’t be showing unless you look right into a camera,” R said, and Enjolras nodded shortly, probably not wanting to interrupt him.

"Do you want to spray paint this?" R asked, sitting back to admire his work. He noticed that Enjolras turned pale.

"No, I'm not--I'm not adept at spraypainting either," Enjolras admitted.

"Hmm, we'll have to fix that," R said, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at Enjolras critically. He was beautiful, it was true. But he looked like the kind of man who belonged on a stage, shouting himself hoarse about what he believed in, not painting them on walls in the dead of night. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, and R smiled grimly.

"Come on, Apollo, I'll get you to bed before morning," he said, standing and going to his room. He grabbed a faded red hoodie and went back out, tossing it to Enjolras. He picked up the stencil and a can of spray paint while Enjolras put on the hoodie, and they were out of his apartment in moments, door locked. R led the way out of the tenement and into the night, where the moon hung low and barely seen in contrast to the brightness of the streetlamps.

"Hood up, come on," R pulled his hood up, and set off uptown, not bothering to check if Enjolras was listening. He tucked the spray paint can up his right sleeve, while the cardboard cut into his left side as he carried it close to his person. The details were fine on this work, and he didn’t want the wind to tear it up.

"Will you be going after another resort?" Enjolras asked, following him.

"Nah, they'd probably get more business for it,” R answered, keeping an eye out for the perfect canvas.

"A boutique?" Enjolras continued.

"No, they make their employees clean it up, and they struggle enough as is," R replied, knowing too well from his own personal experience. Enjolras fell silent, probably deciding to trust R in his choice of target.

Finally, they came to an old law firm that had a reputation for being especially well off.

"Probably security guards, and cameras. We have ten minutes, tops," R said calmly, slipping the can out from his sleeve and popping the can lid.

"You're going to stand at the entrance, and if trouble comes, you say 'stop fuckin pissing, we gotta go.' Got it?" R asked, glancing back at Enjolras. To his satisfaction, he nodded grimly.

"Thanks, Apollo," R said softly, and turned to duck into the shadows. He glanced back, seeing that Enjolras had already slipped into position, adopting the posture of a drunk waiting for his friend to stop messing around.

R turned to his job, finding the perfect canvas. Made of red-lined brick that was only a few years old, it was the prime candidate to hold spray paint, and be a bitch to get out. He unfolded the stencil and pressed it against the wall, rolling up his sleeves before setting to work.

He was only five minutes in, still on the base when Enjolras made a strange choking noise.

"Use your words, Apollo!" He called back softly, finishing up the corner.

"Quit, uh, pissing, we gotta go." Enjolras said, worry clear in his tone, and too close to be logical.

"You mean you left your post? Shit!" R dropped the stencil and grabbed Enjolras' arm instead. "Run!" He turned and sprinted away. There were the general shouts, and the cursing of guards. Hopefully his work would stop them, but he wouldn't be able to keep Enjolras safe with just that distraction.

"Dammit, Apollo," He panted, even though Enjolras was keeping pace with him. A runner, most definitely, R decided. Which was a relief. They would be running for awhile.

"My apartment is this way." Enjolras said, remaining calm enough as he pulled his arm free of his grasp and veered off to the left. R followed without hesitation, and he could hear the faint sound of police sirens in the distance.

"They really do not like graffiti," Enjolras panted, and R couldn’t believe he was trying to make small talk during a time like this. God, R loved him.

"Its a major law firm. Duh," R answered shortly, keeping just a step behind him. Enjolras nodded shortly and pointed to an apartment complex.

"My apartment is on the left," he explained, and R felt gratitude course through him. He might be able to run more than Bossuet, but he was not made to run several miles like this. They made their way up the steps, and Enjolras jammed his keys into the lock before turning it. He shoved his way inside, and R spilled in after him.

They shut the door behind them, leaving the the wail of police sirens behind them, and a moment later a confused Combeferre and Courfeyrac who looked like they were just interrupted from a make out session spilled out into the entryway.

R looked at Enjolras, and they shared a tired smile.


End file.
